A/N: LOOK, NOT A SONG!FIC.
I have a friend who's cosplaying as fem!Moriarty and I felt like writing fem!lock. So yay me.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Don't sue me.
Gunshots, cries of pain, blood on the sand.
She wakes up gasping, drenched in sweat and shaking. Jane feels warmth on her cheeks, and when she touches them, her hands come back wet. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and muffles a scream.
The next day, she's walking through the park.
"Jane? Jane Watson?"
She pauses, turns, and the speaker approaches.
"Stamford. Michelle Stamford. We were at Bart's together."
Recognition lights in Jane's eyes, and she smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes. "Yes, sorry," she laughs a little. "Yes, Michelle." They shake hands. "Hello, hi."
Michelle looks down at herself and grins. "Yeah, I know, I got fat." Jane purses her lips. "No!" "I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at! What happened?" Michelle looks curious, but her forehead is wrinkled in concern. Jane gives an awkward smile. "I got shot."
They sit on the bench, each holding a paper cup of cheap coffee. Michelle continues to stare at Jane, concern still etched on her face. Jane just looks at her and smiles. "Are you still at Bart's, then?" Michelle nods. "Teaching now. Bright young things, just like we used to be." She grins cheekily. "God, I hate them." They laugh. "What about you?" Michelle asks. "Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?" Jane shakes her head a little and smiles sadly. "I can't afford London on an army pension," she says quietly. "Ah," and Michelle smiles. "And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else?" Jane shakes her head again. "That's not the Jane Watson I know!" An awkward silence falls over them, and Jane grimaces. After a few minutes, she starts to speak. "Yeah, I'm not the Jane Watson..." She sounds uncomfortable. Michelle takes a sip of coffee. Jane takes a sip of hers, and passes the cup to her right hand. She stares down at her left hand as it begins to shake, and she forces it into a tight fist.
"Couldn't Harry help?" Michelle sounds nervous now. Jane snorts delicately. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen." Michelle chews her lip for a moment before shrugging. "I dunno...get a flatshare or something?" Jane looks astonished. "Come on," she protests. "Who'd want me for a flatmate?" Her friend chuckles. "What?" Jane is briefly perplexed. Michelle smiles. "Well, you're the second person to say that to me today." Jane's eyes light up. "Who was the first?"
In the morgue of St. Bartholomew's hospital, Sherlock Holmes unzips a body bag and inhales deeply. "How fresh?" Michael Hooper, the morgue assistant, approaches. "Just in," he says, voice not entirely steady. "Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here," Michael offers. "I knew him. He was nice." Sherlock zips up the bag again and straightens. She smiles, but it's weak. "Fine. We'll start with the riding crop."
From the observation room next door, Michael watches with admiration as Sherlock violently flogs the body with the riding crop. He flinches with every strike, but his eyes are lit up with awe. When she's finished, he walks back in and smiles a little. "So," he says awkwardly. "Bad day, was it?" Sherlock does not reply, and she begins to scribble on a notebook. "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," she says brusquely. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me." Michael looks at her nervously. "Listen, I was wondering," he begins. "Maybe later, when you're finished..." She looks up at him briefly and then does a double-take, sniffing the air again. "Are you wearing cologne?" Sherlock sounds surprised. "You weren't wearing cologne before." "I, uh, I refreshed it a bit." He smiles flirtatiously, but she only stares vacantly at him before continuing to write in the notebook. "Sorry," she says after a few minutes. "You were saying?" Michael stares at her intently. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?" Sherlock closes the notebook and puts it away. "Black, two sugars, please." She gives him a condescending smile. "I'll be upstairs."
Michael looks bewildered. "Okay," he says very quietly as Sherlock leaves the room.
Standing at the far end of the lab, Sherlock is squeezing a few drops of liquid out of a pipette and onto a petri dish. There is a knock on the door, and Michelle walks in, leading Jane. Sherlock glances at them briefly before returning to her work. Jane limps inside the lab, looking around at all the equipment. "Well," she says breathlessly. "Bit different from my day." Michelle laughs. "You've no idea," she confides.
Now Sherlock sits at one of the stations. "Michelle, can I borrow your phone?" She asks carelessly. "There's no signal on mine." Michelle looks at her and though her tone is light, her mouth looks quite stern. "And what's wrong with the landline?" She quirks a brow. Sherlock flaps a hand in her direction. "I prefer to text." She says it with an air of finality. Michelle shrugs. "Sorry, it's in my coat." Jane searches her pockets for a moment before pulling out her own phone. She holds it out to Sherlock, saying "Here, use mine." Sherlock looks politely surprised. "Oh," she says. "Thank you."
She stands, beginning to approach Jane, and looks at Michelle with a puzzled look on her face. Michelle pats Jane on the shoulder. "It's an old friend of mine," she says with a smile. "Jane Watson." Sherlock reaches Jane and takes the phone from her. She turns away a little, before sliding out the keyboard and starting to type. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asks distractedly. Jane frowns a little while Michelle smiles. "Sorry?" Jane asks, politely baffled. "Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" She makes brief eye contact with Jane before returning her eyes to the screen. Jane hesitates for a moment, looking at Michelle for help. Michelle just smiles.
Michael walks into the lab, holding a cup of coffee. Sherlock looks up and takes it from him. "Ah, Michael, coffee. Thank you." She slides the keyboard back into Jane's phone and hands it back to her. Frowning a bit, Sherlock sniffs. "What happened to the cologne?" Michael smiles awkwardly at her. "It wasn't working for me," he says. "Really?" Sherlock sounds surprised. "I thought it was a big improvement. You smell too much like death now." She turns on her heel and returns to the station with the pipette, taking a sip of coffee and wincing at the taste. "...okay," says Michael, heading for the door.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Jane looks at Michael, who has just shut the door behind him. She glances at Michelle who is smiling at her before realizing Sherlock is talking to her. "I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock begins to type on a laptop as she speaks. "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." She looks at Jane. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." She gives her a hideously false smile. Jane looks at her blankly for a moment before looking at Michelle. "Oh you...you told her about me?" Michelle shakes her head. "Not a word," Jane stares at Sherlock. "Then who said anything about flatmates?" "I did," Sherlock replies, putting on her coat. "Told Michelle this morning I must be a difficult woman to find a flatmate for. Now here she is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap." Jane blinks at her. "How did you know about Afghanistan?"
Sherlock ignores the question and wraps a navy blue scarf around her neck. She briefly checks her phone. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." Sherlock approaches Jane. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry, gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." She puts her phone into one of her many coat pockets before walking past Jane and towards the door. Jane turns towards her. "Is that it?" She demands. Sherlock turns from the door and approaches Jane again. "Is that what?" She quirks a brow as Jane's jaw nearly falls open. "We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat?" Sherlock smiles a little. "Problem?" Jane lets out a surprised laugh, looking at Michelle with a 'what-the-hell' sort of expression. Michelle just keeps smiling. Jane turns back to Sherlock. "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name." Sherlock studies her for a moment then speaks with confidence. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him; possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic; quite correctly, I'm afraid."
Jane looks down at her cane and shuffles her feet. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Sherlock asks rhetorically. She walks out the door, but a moment later she leans back so her head is in the lab. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street." She winks at Jane, gives a polite "Afternoon" to Michelle, and leaves.
Jane turns to look at Michelle, palms up and looking baffled. "Yeah," says Michelle softly. "She's always like that."
A/N: HUGE thanks to Ariane DeVere's transcripts, without which this story wouldn't be happening! Please review and tell me what you think.
DFTBA, darlings, :)